Japanese dan am.

I got these jeans and they say not to wash them ever. Well they say not to wash them until you've worn them for six months. And then to do it you should take a bath wearing them; jump in a stream; get licked by a cat repeatedly until jeans look worn. They say this helps get a lovely wear and fade.  They'll become 'a map of your life'.

Well, fuck that.

I'm never washing them. Ever. And I plan on wearing them all summer. And to the gym. And to bed. And also while I dry hump complete strangers in the dirt behind Woolworths. I'm going to make the dirtiest map man has ever seen. Pick these up off my floor (or my corpse. Either the crutch blows out or I die. That's the only way I'll take them off) and you'll find a cartographic snuff film. A path that twists and turns and never seems to get anywhere. A journey of hope, regret, mediocrity, and Kewpie mayonnaise love buzz. A Dickensian piece all jizzed out on premium, weathered, Japanese denim.

What the denim over-lords don't tell you is that this process, the No-wash-never-ever procedure, can be used to great on a million other garments to great effect, and often superior effect.

1. Basketball Shorts.
Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh. A breezy pair of b-ball shorts allow you to swish from couch, to bus, to fried-food shop, to online gaming establishment with no lights except from the screen. Sit down, drink Coke, shoot things, yell at friends, feel rush in penis, yell some more, balls feel free and independent in basketball shorts. The beautiful sheen of a quality pair of shorts is only enhanced by doing this every day for at least a year, or however long your Tafe certificate goes for.

 Get oil on fingers from gaming energy food, rub it laterally on the weft of shorts. Shinier than a sled dog that eats a lot (Hughie's Cooking Adventure levels) of salmon.

Not actually sure if weft is the right word, it doesn't have a red squiggle below so we can say 'it is a word' but is it the right one? I don't know, do I look like Harry Potter or something? Get knobbed you cop!

2. Wu Wear
Got to check out the W! Got to check out ----the--W!

Never wash this either. Ol' Dirty Bastard got his name because he ate Dirt Deserts and got them on his jerseys and Wallaby Clarks and he was cool. He was also famous and had sex with a lot of women.

Don't wash this or Big Doe gets a nosebleed.

3. Women's underwear.
Go to gym. Sneak into changeroom. Put on some mining clothes like a bright yellow shirt and say "I am an electrician!". Look through bags. Find underwear. Lift head and try not to explode with victory. Run as fast as possible through gym and netball courts. Get to car, do skid and drive off really fast.

Don't wash these. There's a guy at the petshop down the road who will give you dog drugs (actual dog cocaine and Viagra) for a few pairs.  CAAAAAAH - CHING!!!!!

Project Pat Told Me To Break The Law

I had blood test the other day. I don't think the phlebotomist knew what they were doing. I've got a massive bruise on the inside of my arm like I'm some sort of smacky that puts needles with drugs in them into my arms. I might as well buy some floppy tracksuit pants and drink two litres of milk from the bottle. That's what smackies do. I saw it on an ABC documentary about heroin when I was 12 sometime in the mid nineties. There was this woman who shot up in her house and then drank milk from a bottle in her kitchen which was basically a shrine to chicken bones and dirty dishes. When she drank the milk it sort of went down her chin and into the hollow of her pale ribs like when thirsty basketball players drink gatorade in ads. It was really disturbing and I decided right then that I was a twelve year old who would never do heroin. I fucking hated milk and couldn't think of anything worse than having to drink two litres of it. Heroin was definitely not for me.

So anyway, my arm is bruised. You know how blood tests don't really hurt that much? This one hurt the whole time. Like it was like she was pinching my vein with tweezers. Fuck that is the most disgusting thought ever. But it stung worse than licking the cord that goes into a phone. I did that last year and it zapped my tongue like some kind of Optus electric eel. Bit me. Bit me right on my lick muscle. When I got home from the pathology I realised my fly was undone. I wonder if that's why she made the needle hurt so bad. Maybe they get perverts coming in all the time who get off on getting needles. That could happen. People are into the weirdest crap. There's like a million days worth of videos of guys getting jacked off by feet on the net. People are getting tinea as an STD.

I saw a tag on the side of a building today that said Pedo. I hope he or she are just some misguided yoof. I bet you they like blood tests.

Soap Milk Madagascar (Jesus cream)

There's some hand cream next to my computer. Sounds pretty dodgy huh? Well it's not. It just happens to be there. My girlfriend bought it. It's not so I can grease my flute whilst speedily flicking through Round, Brown, and Oily. It just happens to be there.



It's called"No No" but it seems more like "NNOO" as the letters are arranged to look like a palm. Once again it's not for internet whack fests. It's been on the table since my girlfriend opened the package in which it arrived (notice how I have said I have a girlfriend. This is to prove that I in fact have a girlfriend. I'm being casual and just throwing it around. Many of you may think I'm a lone wolf, a young man with no time for the fairer species, a man that spends every waking hour honing his skills and bettering himself and those around him. This is not entirely true. I have made time in my schedule to fit in the companionship of a femal human. Where I find the time I just don't know. Lord knows my ranking on a certain online surfing game is starting to suffer, but sometimes you need to forget about business and concentrate on family - also, she's not my sister).

Anyway, I have just eaten a lamington.
"Satisfactory?" you ask.
"Not really" I reply.
"Why did you eat two?" you ask.
"I had to make sure. I'm a forgiving man. Like Jesus."
"You know what would get that taste out of your mouth?" you ask. Questions. Lots of questions. You're asking them.
"A drink?" I say. Answer a question with a question. That's how you win an argument.
"Not exactly" you say. "Hand cream. That hand cream that is sitting there. It's wasting away. GET THAT HAND CREAM AND SQUIRT IT IN YOUR MOUTH. DO IT NOW. DO IT FUCKING NOW!!!!!!!"

And so I do. It tastes like shampoo. It kind of burns. Now it's all through the pores of my tongue. I've got a soapy slick irritating the back of my pallet. You are not a nice friend. You do not have my best interests at heart. I would do anything for your affection and you know and exploit this.

Actually, lamington taste gone. Good advice.

If I die in a few hours/minutes - you know why. Please play a sweet song at my funeral. One that will make everyone cry and remember how cool I was.

That is all.

Also

Oliver also told me that the best way to masturbate was with "a piece of string tied in a loop and some soap".

Holy shit!